The Wrong Lyrics.... Only for those of a strong disposition

Subject: The Wrong Lyrics.... Only for those of a strong disposition Sat Apr 08, 2017 3:01 pm

I do this from time to time....can't help myself... sorry... Calx

#1A challenge entry....The Wrong Envelope

I apologise.... a lot ...they put me up to it...

To the tune of Home on the range….

In the bunk house one night, to stave off a fightWheat Carlson was once heard to sayI got me a plan, from a railroad manIt’s a train job, and we’ll make good pay.Down, down in the holeWhere the outlaws of Devils Hole play (Poker that is)Where never is heard, an encouraging wordAnd the guys can drink whiskey all day.

It’s money for old rope, it’s in this here envelopeI done wrote down, the times, an’ the loadsIf it’s right, what I’m told, they’re plannin’ to ship GOLDCoz of outlaws, they won’t risk the roads. (hehehehhehhe!)Down, down in the holeWhere the outlaws of Devils Hole sway (it’s all the whiskey)Where never is heard, an encou’(HIC UP)agin’ wordAnd the guys can drink whiskey all day.

I think that’s a good ideee, smiled Kyle with gleeI’ll bring me the good dynamitePreacher said, tell me my friend, when does yonder train wendI may have to sober up …. A mightDAUOWN, dauown in the holeWhere the outlaws of Devils Hole sway (even MORE whiskey)Where never is heard, an eshhplutterinin’ wordAnd the guys can drink whiskey all dayyyyyyy aaaayyyyyyyyy. Hic up!

It’s…it’s written down here, I wrote it quite clearSaid Wheat, trying to focus his eyesIt got passed round the table but none of them was ableT’read it, no matter how they tried.DAUOWN, dauown in the ‘oleWhere the outlaws of Devils Hole play (if they could see the cards)Where never is heard, an en blah blah blah wordAnd the guys drink whiskey all dayyyyyyy all daaaayyyyyyyyy. Hahahaha!

Then Lobo came in, and hearing the dinSaw the envelope being passed aboutHe took out the note, and saw what was wroteI LOVE A PARTY! He said with a shout.DAUOWN, dauown in the ‘oleWhere the outlaws of Devils Hole pl…. sw… play (who cares!)Where never is heard, an en blah blah blah wordAnd we drink whiskey all dayyyyyyy yeahhhh!…Hahahaha!

This notes from a girl, to her old aunty MerleTellin’ her she’s about to be wedOhhhh…what a pain, no gold and no trainBut we can go to the party ….INSTEAD! Horrrraaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!DAUOooWN, dauoooooown in th ‘oleWhere the o’tlaws of Devvvvils ‘ole pl…. sw… play (aaaaayyyyy!)Where n’ver is he’rd, an en lah lah lah….. word!And we get t’ drink w’iskey ALLLLL DAAAAAAYAAAAAH!

(Someone fix me a drink….. grief!)

---oooOOOooo---

#2

Calico put me up to this one... so blame the cat

Quick Western version of Men of Harlech - go!..........

Can't resist a challenge Calico

To be sung to the tune of Men of Harlech.....Men of Devils Hole

Men of Devils Hole ride to gloryVictory is hovin' o'er theeThe pay roll train runs right before yeHear ye not the Whistle!All your dreams of larcenous wonderCome true as Kyle blows the safe assunderLet the explosions deaf'nin' thunderRailroad owners appall.Posses loudly chasingO'er hill and valley racingTill you split, and outwitThe sheriff by retracingYour trail, and every trick assailingto Devils Hole with heart unfailingTill all the posses learn with quailingThe Hole will never yeild!

If they could just be word perfect by St Davids Day...I'll rehearse the rest of the gang....tell them to come as they are...I'm planning to get the rest of the gang in Stetsons and spurs!

Calx

#3 Challenge ....Crossing the border.... It had to be a hash up of W H Audens Night Mail...

Night MailWith apologies to W H Auden

This is the night mail crossing the Border,Bringing the gold and the Governor’s order,

Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,The Big Spread owner, the girl next door.

Pulling up the slope, a steady climb:The gradient's against her, but she's on time.

Past cotton-grass and Indian boulderShovelling white steam over her shoulder,

Snorting noisily as she passesSilent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Outlaws turn their heads as she approaches,Stare from hilltops at her blank-faced coaches.

Knowing they cannot turn her course;They’ve charged the bridge she must cross.

In the homestead she passes no one wakes,But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.

Dawn freshens. Her climb is done.Down towards the river she descends,Towards the bridge set dark against white tossed waters. Towards the apparatus, set to make the bridge a furnace.Set in the dark plain like a gigantic snare.All the outlaws wait for her:In dark shadows, beside pale-green pinesMen long for news.

Letters of thanks, letters from banks,Letters of joy from girl and boy,Receipted bills and invitationsTo inspect new stock or to visit relations,And applications for situations,And timid lovers' declarations,And gossip, gossip from all the nations,News circumstantial, news financial,Letters with holiday photographs in,Letters with ‘sorrys’ scrawled on the margin,Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,Letters to the Wild West from the civilised World,Letters of condolence to the plains and the mountainsWritten on paper of every hue,The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,Clever, stupid, short and long,The copperplate and printed and the spelt all wrong.

They are all still asleep,Dreaming of terrifying occurrences But none could foretell of the shriek and the squeal, of her breaks and her frozen wheels:

Asleep in town and unaware, asleep a Sheriff without a care,As deft fingers slip around a dial, and Gold starts South, mile after mile.

They all continue in their dreams,But shall wake soon and hope for letters,And none will hear the postman's knockFor the night mail will not cross the riverAnd all that Gold is gone forever…..